


The winds of change will change your mind

by lesbleusthroughandthrough



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Blood and Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-25 13:38:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10765341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbleusthroughandthrough/pseuds/lesbleusthroughandthrough
Summary: For the prompt: "I just survived a mob hit and swam a mile down a river just to escape them so no, I’m not in the goddamn mood to play nice-–give me your fucking car or I’ll blow your head off ok? (and, what the f–why are you laughing? tHIS ISNT FUNNY GIVE ME YOUR CAR–YES I KNOW IM NAKED ALRIGHT AND ITS COMPLETELY IRRELEVENT)"-Mob AU where Jordan Henderson is on the run and absolutely does not need the help of the cute doctor he tried to mug. Nope.





	The winds of change will change your mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Khalehla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khalehla/gifts).



> This fic does not geograhically nor factually represent the city of Liverpool, but this story needed to be written. Also, it could have been at least twice as long.
> 
> The title is from the song "Stay" by Alicia Cara and Zedd
> 
> I had an actual fairy godmother of a beta for this - you know who you are!

 

 

“Feet  _ off  _ the dash.” 

Studge made a huge sweeping movement with his right hand, more of a gesture than with any intention to use force, but Jordan scooped his feet up from the dashboard of the car anyway. 

“It’s new!” Studge hissed, as Jordan snickered mercilessly from the passenger seat. “This car is  _ brand new _ .” 

“It’s an Opel, not a Bugatti _.” _

“Your ugly, dusty boots are going to leave a mark regardless.”

Jordan let his head loll back over the edge of the seat as he laughed, his sweaty, sticky neck pulling against the leather. The summer’s heatwave was at its peak; rain had been threatened for days, and today was the closest it had come to it. Never mind the distinct charcoal colour of the clouds - threatening to roll in over the city with every passing hour – the minute Jordan stepped away from any kind of aircon he was  _ drenched _ .

Studge had managed to cope a little better, bar the occasional, artful bead of sweat sliding down from his temple; but the air-conditioning unit in the car was at its highest. Studge had turned the radio to full volume to try and drown out its high-pitched whine. 

“How did you get a car, anyway?” Jordan had to yell a bit over the combination of both sounds. “We’ve had no work in weeks.”

Studge cackled, the car crawling behind the traffic on the main interlink bridge. Despite the heat, the level of the river Mersey hadn’t dropped at all. Jordan was glad the car windows were closed to avoid the smell, but couldn’t help feeling it was about to come in through the air-conditioning in a few minutes.

Studge gave him a grin and shrugged, his teeth taking over his whole face. “I deserve it,” he said simply. Then, “it’s my work. You’re lucky I let  _ you _ come along.”

Jordan had no argument now, closing his eyes with his neck curved back around the edge of the seat. He felt Studge beat the rhythm of the song against the outside of his knee where he’d now left it crossed, hanging just above the gear stick. 

He could’ve added something like “ _ Your  _ work?”, all dripping with sarcasm. Jordan, after all, was the only one of them who enjoyed the label of “lower level mobster”. Either you were or you weren’t in the mafia in this part of the world, and having a friend as in it as deep as Studge paid his rent, allowed him to have satellite TV and to tap into the occasional buffet in town on a Sunday. It was better than the alternative – having a family to pledge to, like Klopp’s, that both he and Studge were a part of; offered protection that no one wanted to be without. Plus, there were perks on hand if you wanted them: the girls, the parties, the sun holidays. Jordan wasn’t particularly predisposed to any of those, but the offers made him feel pretty cool.

Studge had a planned trajectory to follow. Upwards. Which was cool, Jordan wouldn’t hold it against him, especially since he was likely to be dragged along in his slipstream  anyhow. Jordan was secretly glad there was no work during the heat, no deals for Studge to negotiate, no protection money to be collected and for Jordan to follow him  holding a very large gun: he was hired to be the muscle, despite the reality of being like Studge’s personal secretary. He felt that being a melting mess sort of took away from his image.

The traffic rumbled on, the brakes of the car in front screeching slightly as the trail of traffic came to an almost immediate halt. Jordan’s head flapped against the seat and Studge tutted.

“We’re not in a rush,” Jordan pointed out.

“It’s the principle,” Studge said. His hand went back to tapping at Jordan’s knee. “Should’ve taken the shortcut.”

They inched along through the holiday traffic, the afternoon got longer, the sun got lower. Jordan watched the dark clouds looming closer through the window, and wasn’t sure if he really wished for the rain.

Eventually, they turned off the bridge. There was a chilly breeze in the shade of the buildings, and Jordan’s sweat turned into a cold drip down his back. 

“You aren’t,” Studge cackled, “ _ cold _ ? After all that?”

Jordan returned the grin, leaning forward to turn down the air conditioning. The music seemed much louder as they pulled away from the traffic along the river’s edge. Studge’s condo – and also, a little bit Jordan’s condo at this stage – was prime, overlooking the now narrow wind of the river and where there was enough decorative shrubbery for it to be considered a little suburban.

“Can we get pizza?” Jordan asked, draping his hands over his eyes as Studge indicated into the car park. “It’s been ages since we’ve had pizza.”

“I can’t believe,” Studge said, “you think I’m gonna argue.” The garage door came to life with a series of clicks and whirrs. 

Jordan had lowered his arms when he saw the flash. 

Less than a second, not even enough time for his stomach to drop. 

It was enough time to drag Studge down with him as he fell sideways across the seat - the rain of bullets began on the car before he hit the leather. It was deafening, even over the radio – still howling through the evening. Studge howled too - Jordan could feel his chest vibrating with it where he clutched him.

Jordan had no time to panic, no time to yell - he had to stretch into the glovebox first. Curl his hands around the Glock he’d hidden among the car manuals, shove it into Studge’s chest. It was a stupid idea, on reflection, as Studge was still clutching his head and yelling. Not that Jordan could blame him, just that it was more difficult to reach under the seat for the second gun. He made a lunge for it, his slick fingers sliding right off, unable to get a proper grip. He swore and pushed Studge down further into the seat as he made a second dive for it. His fingers clasped at it, not quite getting the handle.

The shooting ceased as quickly as it started, leaving nothing but the slowing warble of the dying radio and the sound of Jordan’s pounding heart, right against the inside of his ears. Something pressed against the inside of his throat. It might have been bile. 

It was unlikely the shooters –  it had to be plural, given the persistence and volume of ammunition – had run out of steam at the same time. It was an order. Coordinated. There were at least two people surrounding the car if they were lucky.

_ Who did you piss off, Studge _ , he wanted to hiss.  _ Who  _ the fuck  _ have you pissed off? _

He didn’t care suddenly - not so much that Studge had been reduced to a snivelling mess across the seat under him because he was mad at him - more that it was likely the shooter had presumed their deaths and it was the only reason they were still alive. If they were going to get away, this was the moment.

Jordan tried to breathe, but the function was taken over by the rapid calculations he was trying to make of him reaching a ripe old age. If there was someone behind the car – and this he could not tell, as he as afraid to lift his head to see if any of the bullets had come through the back window – this chance lessened significantly. But if not...

Someone had to have heard the racket. Surely, there would be some sort of police backup on the way – the police could still scare sometimes, and seemed to actually show up recently. If they could get out the front of the building and find somewhere to hide, it would buy them time. They wouldn’t be safe, but they would have  _ time _ . It was his job to protect Studge, he supposed, officially and all, but he wouldn’t be able to get both of them out of the same side of the car.

“Split,” he murmured, a low enough whisper that he hoped only Studge would hear. “Turn left at the top of the ramp.” Studge’s head – supported by Jordan’s hand curled around his jaw- nodded. “On three. One.” Heels clicked closer on the concrete drive. “Two.”

As the door opened at his feet, he kicked back on it as hard as he could.

The yelp and the dull whacking sound on the other side of the door were confirmation enough that he was not meant to be alive, and Jordan rolled on his back to aim his next shot through the window. He dived out onto the concrete and began to run. Shots rang out into the evening and he felt them spit into the pavement beside him as he decided on a left turn and too late – realised he was heading straight for riverside. 

He returned a shot, torquing his whole body in the process. His boots leadened around his feet: Studge was nowhere to be seen among the rush of people dressed in black, sprinting much faster than Jordan ever could right behind him. His throat hurt – he was calling for Studge now,  _ screaming  _ for him. 

Jordan didn’t even have time to think as he ran onto the river’s foot bridge,  his stomach dropping like a stone: mounting from the other side were other figures, dressed suspiciously similarly, weapons drawn, breaking into a run towards him when they saw him. 

He came to a sudden halt as the panic threatened to consume him. Something whizzed past his ear. 

Jordan grabbed onto the railings, and swung himself over towards the river.

He became aware of the rapidly approaching water just before he hit it – heard himself yell, felt his arms flap as though they could possibly slow any of this down, just had time to shut his mouth and grasp at a silent plan through his head before he hit the water. 

The impact shuddered up through his ankles, his knees – his clothes catching tight around his chest as they ballooned out behind him, halting his descent with a whoosh of bubbles.

He barely had time to become aware of his new surroundings – the sudden quiet of the underwater, the enormousness of it, how the impact still reverberated through every one of his bones – before the current hit him straight in the chest and threatened to roll him completely upside down. 

Shocked bubbles flew from his mouth as he was buffeted backwards. He pulled at his boots one handed-ly, with the other trying to tread the water. His boots were solid bricks on his feet, pulling him down towards the cold. He pulled at his equally heavy jeans, kicked out of them, reached the surface and took an enormous gulp of air. 

He wondered briefly if it was raining.

Briefly.

The current carried him under the bridge and he took a deep breath, ducking under the water before he could arrive on the other side. Before he became target practice. 

He felt, rather than heard, the bullet zip past him in the water and he had reached out with his left arm – to paddle away faster, his right still firmly gripping his gun – when he was spun right around in the water from the impact.

He screamed. He screamed into a gaping silence, water finding its way in down his throat and his windpipe as he flailed, and tumbled in the water, his arm feeling as if it was being shredded from him. His feet broke through the surface of the water and kicked at the air, before he somersaulted again – this time coming head up.

He gasped – and coughed, water dribbling out over his chin – and gasped again. He could barely blink away the water over his eyes, and spun around in the current to watch the receding footbridge. He could just make out the figures on it, and this was only temporary relief, because the current was moving  _ fast _ . He didn’t know how long he had until the Mersey widened into the city, and to near certain death for someone with what was definitely a bullet lodged in one arm.

He spluttered up more water at the thought, although the beginnings of cold, cold panic stuck in his lungs; and began to kick furiously with his feet against the flow of the water, paddling with his gun hand over towards the water’s edge. He should let go, he  _ knew  _ he should let go, but the thought of facing figures in black when he finally reached land was almost as drowning as the water around him, and he felt more powerful with it, if technically more useless. 

He tried to kick again, the current spinning him around in a full circle, water running into his eyes down from his brows and making it hard to see. There was no way up out of the river even if he tried – there was a crust of shrubbery too thick to crawl through on either side of it. But, on the bend, he spotted his chance: a pub, with a carpark and his saviour: a boat ramp. With one final push, he used every limb he had – regardless of its efficiency – to paddle in its direction. 

His knees cracked when he hit the side of the concrete. It was already less painful than everything else, every part of him leading from a joint was numbed to ice. He flung his gun, sending it clattering up onto the dry concrete, and scrambled up after it, collapsing half-in, half-out of the water.

He couldn’t lie here forever. He knew that. Yet, for a very, very brief moment, he had never felt more comfortable with his head buried in the dust. His arm seared as heat creeped back into it, bringing him back to life with a jolt, and he coughed up yet more water onto the ground in front of him. It mingled with the rusty streaks that ran from his arm, down the slope, and into the water.

Jordan dragged himself to the edge of the ramp, to the concrete shadow that hid him from the pub beside him. He hadn’t been able to make out its name, but he was sure it was a terrible nautical metaphor. He pulled off the only remaining clothing he had – a shirt adorned with a tropical pattern, he’d decided for the season as he’d got dressed this morning – and folded it as much as he could before he bundled it down over the wound. 

If only it were that simple.

He’d taken a deep breath and held it to quieten his increasingly shaking body, but turned his arm slowly and saw the exit wound. 

The water hadn’t carried him far. Soon, whoever who had fired the shot would be in a search party on its way downstream.

_ What am I going to  _ do _?  _ He squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to force himself to think through the mounting panic.  

He could go into the pub. But that would raise alarm, he would probably be carted off to a hospital. This was what he needed most, yes, but he couldn’t risk any kind of delay and whoever had carried out such a well-coordinated hit finding him. In the age of modern hospital computer systems – apparently, an easy hack - that would be the end, he wouldn’t even be allowed to get better. Or allowed to get worse.

No. No his second option was finding a way to get back to base, back to Klopp, to alert them. Simon knew first aid. Jordan probably needed more than first aid, but he’d likely live.

This second option posed many, obvious problems. The first was finding out where the hell he was. Another was getting back to headquarters without bleeding out – because then he might as well have died a less painful death on the bridge.

_ Studge _ .

The thought tried to enter his head and he forced it out. He had to stem the panic, not succumb to it. Maybe Studge had made it. Maybe they’d only wanted to scare him. Maybe. Jordan could do nothing until he got to help, and so he had to do that first.

With that, his thoughts calmed a little, and he returned his attention from its short holiday to his injury.

He now regretted losing his belt when he’d discarded his pants in the river. Instead, he wrapped the shirt now just below his shoulder, whimpering as he tied it tight, tasting rust when he pulled the knot firm with his teeth. He didn’t trust himself to do a tourniquet properly, so he pressed his palm down hard on the top wound, and pushed the bottom one against his side. He opened his mouth and screamed silently at the clouds before he pushed himself to his feet, his gun shaking in his right hand.

Someone was leaving their car, parked right at the edge of the car park. His victim – some poor, sodding bloke with a quiff and a t-shirt that was far too big for him – paused, feeling around in his pockets after he’d closed the car door. He’d leaned against the driver’s window with his hands cupped over his eyes when Jordan made his move.

He gritted his teeth as he lifted his hand off his shirt, and pressed his gun up into the back of the guy’s neck. 

“I have a gun,” he said, keeping his voice as stone-cold as possible. “Give me your car.”

He saw a set of shoulders stiffen under his top, watched his elbows slowly lift in surrender.

“Keys,” Jordan snarled. “Or I  _ will _ shoot.”

“Okay.” The reply came as a squeak. It actually hurt Jordan’s ears. “My jacket pocket.”

“Take them out,” Jordan snapped, now having reservations about how to pull his off with a half-dud arm. One of the guy’s hands reached very carefully into his pocket. The car keys rattled when he took them out, jangling with his shudders. Jordan felt a guilty pang – incredibly, despite everything - because usually the people he pointed guns at half-deserved it.

“Put it in the door and step back,” he said, moving away. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

The guy gave another squeak, his keys chiming as he stabbed a little at the lock. The screech of metal-on-metal stung Jordan’s ears, combining terribly with the throb of his arm; so much so that he almost said something as stupid as: “ _ Christ _ , I’m not actually going to  _ shoot you  _ if I can help it at all.”

Finally, the guy managed to stick his key into the lock and the clear sound of the car popping open rang through the carpark.

“My wallet,” the guy said. The line of his shoulders shook. “It’s on the seat, I – “

Jordan did not care for his wallet. He angled the nose of his gun from the back of the guy’s neck to under his jaw. “ _ Back _ ,” he snapped. 

His poor, sodding victim took several quick steps sideways, his eyes squeezed shut. He tripped over his feet as he turned, Jordan’s weapon now pressing to the underside of his chin. And then, because he was clearly not nearly as frightened as he seemed to think he was: his eyes opened.

Jordan was probably a little at fault. He’d dropped the gun to grapple at the door handle, and was busy forcing the car door open with a combination of his good elbow and a knee when he heard the snort.

His nerves were so shot that he had acted on a reflex before anything had passed through his brain – the gun was pressed so hard into the guy’s throat that he could see the red imprint of it, even through the carpet of stubble at the top of his neck.

“Sorry,” he choked, squeezing his eyes shut again and turning his head away. Jordan followed the path of his eyes – because they hadn’t been at the gun, or Jordan’s face or anything – and found himself staring at his own crotch. In his haste to keep himself from sinking in the water, he’d discarded everything he had, everything including – sadly, he only now realised the implication – his y-fronts.

His hostage made another strangled noise and turned his head further away. Jordan could see his lips pursed tight enough to shake. His eyes were squeezed so shut Jordan couldn’t discern where the wrinkle ended and the socket began.

Jordan was…  _ embarrassed _ ?

_ Get a hold of yourself.  _ His arm began to throb a little harder, and he could feel the tell-tale trickle of blood flowing down the underside.  _ You don’t have time. _

He half-lunged, making some sort of throaty, snarling noise that he had never heard himself make before and forced the gun further into the guy’s neck. 

“I’m not,” Jordan said, as the guy took a very quick step backwards. More like a trip in all honesty, “in the  _ mood _ .”

“Sorry,” he gasped. In alarm, his eyes opened again, and came to a stop, this time, on Jordan’s makeshift bandage. “You’re hurt,” he said, sounding surprised. 

“I only need a finger to shoot you,” Jordan snapped. “Get  _ back _ .”

“You don’t understand,” the guy replied, suddenly a lot less compliant. “I’m a doctor.” Jordan’s face had probably melted into incredulity so he then backed it up with, “ _ really _ . And you are  _ bleeding _ .”

“Funnily enough,” Jordan said, “I noticed. I need your car.”  _ He’s clearly lying! No way is he a doctor! It’s just  _ too convenient  _ and you are not that lucky! _

“No,” his arms were already lowering from a surrender stance, Jordan needed to regain control of this and  _ fast _ , “I can  _ help _ you.” His eyes were very large and very brown and Jordan had, suddenly, so many issues discerning if they were honest or hiding a total liar.

So, he hesitated. Car-jacking inexperience, probably, he’d stopped unconsciously tallying all of his mistakes. And the guy saw his in, clearly rearranging his face to make it look serious and professional. 

“Let me take a look at it, okay?” he said, with a forced air of calm. Then without warning, he reached.

It was Jordan’s turn to take a quick step back. He’d already lost.

“I’m,” the guy started again, “a  _ doctor _ .”

_ He’s lying _ , Jordan told himself.  _ He’s clearly lying but he has really big doe-eyes and you’re totally falling for it. _

His aim was already dropping, as his arm throbbed hard enough to make him stumble a little.

What were his options? He hadn’t factored in  _ bargaining _ . 

“What are you going to do,” he croaked, accepting death as a certainty, suddenly. This dude would get his keys back, drive off and leave Jordan to bleed out in the carpark instead.

_ You did think it would be a long shot. _

“Just let me see,” the guy said, holding his hands out, palms up. When Jordan didn’t react, he took another step. And another. Jordan was letting him, well, mostly because he couldn’t seem to string real thoughts together anymore. Every time he tried, pain slashed right through the synapse.

On a reflex, though, he made sure to press his firearm to the exposed side of the guy’s neck. He was close enough that Jordan saw his tendons stretch as he swallowed. It was much more soothing to watch than the other option - he felt hands move very carefully around the outside of his arm, barely touching it. 

Jordan couldn’t look at it anymore, was a little too scared to turn and see just how much he had bled, so he watched his hostage-doctor instead. He seemed to slowly forget that he was being threatened, his eyebrows knitting slowly closer, his chin drawing upwards as he pursed his lips. It could have been water or sweat that slid down Jordan’s own forehead and straight into his eye. The guy didn’t even seem to notice that he had to turn his head a little as he blinked it away. 

“Okay,” he said carefully. “We need to be pretty quick about this. Get in the car.”

Jordan didn’t even think to argue, even at the “ _ other  _ side”, when he was directed around the car to the passenger seat. The front seat was tiny, and he had to draw his knees up a little to fit, his skin going slightly translucent from the sudden cold that seemed to have descended on him. 

“I can fix that,” the guy said, knocking Jordan’s shoulder slightly as he reached around into the back seat. Jordan wondered if it was a reference to his shivers or to the constant reminder that he was completely naked, and it literally hadn’t been bothering him until about a minute ago.

The white sheet that landed on Jordan’s lap became a coat the more he turned it around in his hands, all starchy and stiff around the shoulders and showing up the brown streaks of semi-dried blood in a much sharper contrast than he would have liked. He started to pull it around one shoulder, wearing it as a half a coat, half a blanket.

Something harsh pulled a scratch across his chest as he tried to squeeze warmth into himself, and he reached for it: it was a name tag, encased in fiddly plastic. “Adam,” he said out loud, reading the name. Then, definitely, the large, blue square of the NHS logo shone offensively from one corner. 

He  _ was _ a doctor. Jordan had been wrong

“Told you,” the guy – Adam - said, starting the car. 

Under the NHS logo was the name of a hospital that Jordan didn’t recognise, the word “Orthopaedic surgeon” and then “Adam Lallana” and was flanked by a picture of the same, taken in terrible light, but Jordan could clearly make out his hair in a large crest and the fact he was smiling. He also looked considerably less tired, but that could have also been a lighting thing.

_ Adam _ , he thought, wondering if this sudden rush of familiarity that came with something as personal as a first name would dig him further into this hole. 

“I’m going to let them know we’re coming,” Adam said, reaching for his pocket.

Jordan lifted his head. “Who?” he asked.

“The hospital. We’ll need – “

“I can’t go to the hospital.”

“– to let them know you’re coming in, so they can get a station ready and we can deal with it straight away – “

“ _ No  _ hospital.”

“It’s where you need to be – I – “

Jordan hadn’t thought he had any nerves left, but he must have – with the speed that he snatched his gun from his lap, where he’d left it to adjust the coat, and thrown himself across the car to hold it up to Adam’s cheek. 

“ _ No hospital _ ,” he said, with incredible venom for someone who had accepted death seconds ago. But if he was found there by whoever was looking for him, it wasn’t worth living for. He couldn’t be sure  _ they  _ – whoever had ambushed Studge in the basement of his own apartment building – had even known Jordan would be there, if he was just collateral damage, but he couldn’t take a risk.

_ Studge _ , he thought sadly, and as he pushed the thought forcefully out of his head, the red mist lifted and he came back down to earth. He had Adam pinned against the driver’s window, having flung himself the whole way across the car, specifically by the nose of his gun that pressed a deep indent into his cheek. Jordan had wedged his bad arm against the seat and it  _ burned  _ under his weight, so much so that it wet the outside of his eyes. 

Under him, Adam had shrivelled up to half of his size, with his arms wrapped around his face. Jordan realised, suddenly, just how much blood there was – Jordan’s own hand was drenched in it, and it had dried in rust-coloured streaks down his fingers and the bridge of Adam’s knuckles and Jordan’s lunge had drawn it across his cheek, too.

Blood.  _ His blood _ .

Jordan made a living out of being mob muscle, so he knew that was a lot of blood to belong to one person. He fell weakly back into the passenger seat.

“No hospital,” he said lamely.

Adam seemed to take a second to compose himself, his fingers still shaking as they curved around the steering wheel. He licked his lip and stared defiantly out at the road. The car rolled forward again. 

“Okay,” he said, feebly. “I have a first aid kit. We’ll clean you up at mine.”

The car turned out onto the road, and Jordan’s head spun with the swerve. 

“Stay with me,” Adam’s voice said suddenly. Jordan felt the push on his shoulder – a brave move, he thought, given what had just happened – and his eyes struggled to open. Adam was watching the road again. “Keep pressure on the wound. It’s like the movies.” 

The pattern on Jordan’s shirt was obsolete, drenched, but he tried to keep his head focused enough to make sure his fingers stayed on it.

He felt his eyes droop and righted his head immediately. 

“What’s wrong with me?” He tried to say to himself, but it came out loud instead.

“Nothing.” The reply was too calm. Jordan was suddenly freezing. “We’re nearly there.” 

Jordan forced his eyes to focus, but they’d rounded into a housing estate and every house was exactly the same – all two-up, two-downs; old brick, bad pebbledash, not much lawn. Watching them flick identically from one to the other wasn’t helping, and as his head swam, his eyes threatened to close again. 

The car came to a shuddering halt, and Jordan watched Adam leap out, a little dazed. He wondered where his gun was, as Adam appeared on the passenger side. When the door opened, he rolled backwards and found himself supported by Adam’s shoulder.

“C’mon,” he said, “up.”

_ What’s wrong with me _ , Jordan wondered to himself this time, as he stumbled to his feet, the hospital coat catching around his knees. The concrete was really cold under his bare feet.

“Just keep holding it,” Adam said. Jordan hadn’t noticed his slipping fingers.

There were two steps – the tallest steps in the world – up to the front door. 

“Over to the sink.” Adam half-pulled, half-carried Jordan across the tiny living space and into the kitchen. He ran the tap, leaving Jordan to lean against the counter-top. “Let’s take a look, huh?”

_ Liar,  _ Jordan thought, his head swimming;  _ you already looked. _

Adam turned Jordan to him, so his bad arm faced the sink. He began to loosen Jordan’s makeshift bandage. “Despite everything,” he said, and Jordan felt as though  _ everything  _ was a thinly veiled  _ threatening me repeatedly with a gun _ , “the bleeding has slowed a lot.” He turned Jordan’s arm slightly, pushing at his skin with his fingertips. He stopped when he saw the exit wound. 

Jordan didn’t know doctors could look shocked. And Adam did seem to look very much like he was trying not to be, he could tell, as he seemed to reach the conclusion of how exactly Jordan had injured himself.

God, though. Working at a hospital, in this town? He  _ had  _ to have seen worse.

Jordan stared decidedly at the water swilling down the black holes of the sink. He could feel Adam watching him, aware that his breathing had slowed to an almost stop, but couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I can’t see any bone,” Adam whispered, the capital-D-Doctor act dropping for a few seconds, “it… the… it went the whole way through. You’re very lucky.”

Jordan wasn’t sure how lucky he felt, and he shut his eyes. 

“I’m going to try and clean it out as much as I can in the sink. It’s going to hurt.”

Jordan heard his words, and yet. Adam breathed right up next to him, he couldn’t hear him, but he felt the slow rise of his ribs. It was slow. Adam was calm. He was warm. He was  _ solid _ , right when Jordan felt like his mind was trying to make its way through very dense fog. So, when he felt Adam’s fingers press again, and guide his elbow towards the tap, he wound his hand around his side and anchored it deep into the fabric of Adam’s back. When the running water hit, Jordan leaned forward and pressed his scream into his shoulder. 

* * *

 

“We’re gonna have to make it upstairs, big guy,” Adam said. Jordan thought it must be right in his ear. “That’s it.” Jordan’s shins banged off every step now, with a kind of detached, far away pain – like this wasn’t really happening to  _ him _ , more like he was watching some other poor soul’s legs glow red from repeated impact. 

“Second door,” Adam was saying, very breathless. Jordan became aware of just how much of his weight he was letting Adam take. Inside the second door, he let Jordan roll off his shoulder and onto his back on to a bed. 

“I’ll be back okay,” he said. “Don’t move.”

But where on earth did he think Jordan was going to go? As he stared at the ceiling, Jordan wondered if this was his strength itself leaking from him. What did standing upright without help feel like? He wasn’t even all that sure he remembered. He tried lifting his head and it dropped right back down. His arm throbbed with the effort, and a pathetic whimpering noise left his throat. Embarrassing.

He didn’t want to die and for his last thought to be  _ embarrassment.  _ Although his nose was full of the smell of lavender fabric softener, which wasn’t wholly unpleasant.

Adam appeared in the doorway, his arms laden with an assortment of boxes and towels. 

“I only have a first aid kit,” he said, falling to his knees beside Jordan. “It’s not… it’ll do. Can you lift your arm.”

Amazingly, Jordan could, if only by an inch, and only with total, absolute pain through his whole body. Adam pushed a towel under it and helped Jordan when he eased it further up with a second. 

“Okay.  _ Okay _ ,” Adam was muttering to himself. Jordan remembered suddenly that he was mostly naked, and reached for the duvet on his other side, tried his best to wrap it around him as much as he could. There was some rummaging, some zips undone. “These are the strongest painkillers I have, here.” Adam’s hand slid around the back of Jordan’s head to lift it, Jordan was very aware of how his fingers raked through his hair, somehow. With his good hand, he chased the pills with a glass of water. He felt stupid when he waited for them to work immediately, yelping when Adam pressed his fingers down into his arm to hold it steady, not expecting pain to sear right down to the bone.

“It’s alright,” Adam said softly. He straightened the edge of his latex glove when he pulled on it, and it snapped against his skin. “I’m not going to stitch it up for now.” Instead, he spread a cool jelly around both wounds – they looked much smaller now, with all the crusty blood washed away – and Jordan watched him carefully apply the gauze, wrap the bandage, smooth the end of it flat when he taped it down. 

“Done,” he said, offering a small smile. “Easy.”

Jordan hadn’t seen him smile yet – apart from the clearly fake attempt of his doctor’s ID – and it was really very comforting. Adam’s face had been all sharp edges but they rounded out when he did. 

Jordan thought about going. He needed to get back to HQ, to tell them, to find Studge, find out who did this and… those were  _ strong  _ painkillers. His eyelids dropped. 

“My name is Jordan,” he said, perhaps as a thank you. It wasn’t because he was hitting on him. No. It wasn’t normal to hit on reasonably handsome doctors who saved your undeserving ass. “Thanks.”

Adam was rubbing small circles into Jordan’s open palm with his thumb. He swallowed.

“Why couldn’t we go to the hospital, Jordan?” he asked. There was an extra edge to it.  _ Daring? _ Jordan wondered.  _ Dumb,  _ he decided. “We will need to go, you know. Later. I can’t prevent infection like they can at the hospital. I definitely can’t sneak antibiotics out, not with the way things are.”

Jordan shook his head, and his brain rattled around in it. If he passed out, would Adam call the police?

If Adam worked in a hospital, like he said he did, he would know what happened to people caught in this kind of crossfire. He’d have seen it daily – hospitals were brave, busy and understaffed coping with the collateral damage from decades of disputes. There were factions out there with much worse reputations than the one Jordan worked for.

What if Adam knew  _ people _ ? It wouldn’t be unheard of, would it, to pay off doctors to be available? Would he call them? It would only make more trouble, and Adam couldn’t be  _ that  _ stupid. Jordan was too dissociated from the rest of his body to feel afraid. 

And it was the last thing he thought, as he slipped into unconsciousness. 

* * *

 

He must have had the thoughts of police or otherwise catching up with him still on the brain, because when Jordan returned from the unprecedented depths of that nap, it was because he felt something press against his neck and he leapt to life.

“Sorry,” Adam’s voice said, sounding panicked. Jordan had reacted first, and opened his eyes second; forgetting, momentarily, the state of his left arm. He’d made to punch with it, but all that happened, in the end, was that it flapped weakly in against Adam’s shoulders.

“Shhh,” he continued, a little to himself as well as Jordan, as he took hold of Jordan’s elbow and lowered it back down on top of the towels. Jordan stilled, realising that he was kicking away with his legs and that if he continued on that trajectory he would run out of bed.

_ Bed _ .

More of the day’s events came back to him. How long had he been asleep? He needed to get back to Klopp, he someone  _ had  _ to know what had happened to Studge and Jordan was clinging, so, desperately to the idea of good news. Studge’s shivering ribcage had too recently been pressed to his – his best friend, the most he had ever cared about a person – that nothing could have happened to him.  _ Nothing.  _

Panic jolted now through every one of his joints and he struggled a little, trying to sit up, his legs tangling in several layers of fleecy blanket that had been placed over him.

“I was just checking your vitals, you know,” Adam was still talking as Jordan took a quick look around the room. The double bed he slept on took up most of it, and the rest of the furniture – the cupboard, the bedside tables, and especially the lamps perched on them – gave off the distinct whiff of IKEA, altogether very temporary. There was only one window, double hung, framed with a radiator below it and a thick looking roller blind cresting the top. He needed to know where he was. How he could get out of it. “Jordan.”

Jordan had forgotten that he’d given his name. It was something he shouldn’t have done, but Klopp’s rules had been hazy and unimportant as the painkillers had begun to work their magic. Magic he could almost feel fading. With this, he finally directed his attention back at Adam.

Adam must have showered. This, Jordan deduced, because the swipe of blood had gone from his cheek and his hair looked distinctly damp, slicked back from his forehead. He’d changed – his t-shirt was different, because Jordan was sure there had been blood on that, too. 

Jordan tried to swallow, and his throat rejected it immediately. He coughed,  _ gasped _ – he was  _ parched _ . 

“Drink,” Adam pushed a glass of water into his hands. “ _ Sip _ ,” he corrected, when Jordan took a massive gulp, getting a little over enthusiastic with pouring it into his mouth, so actually most of the contents of the glass – colder than goddamn ice - ended up down his chin. Jordan heard laughter in Adam’s tone and did not appreciate it.

Adam hid his grin behind his hand. “I have to go to work,” he said. And while Jordan tried to blink through what this meant, “I’m on the night shift so. I reckon it’ll be about eight hours, it depends on – anyway,” he said, hastily interrupting himself. It was endearing, Jordan thought, more than anything else. His heartbeat was already slowing. “These are for the pain,” Adam lifted a tiny tube of pills and rattled them next to his ear, “and I’ll leave two of them here. They should do until I get back. I hope. But you really should,” he carefully lifted the glass from Jordan’s hand with both of his, “rest.”

He couldn’t have known, could he? That Jordan heard  _ I’ll be gone for eight hours  _ and thought to himself:  _ plenty of time to get out of here _ .

“Unless,” Adam started. Then stopped, looking a little nervous.

“What?” Jordan snapped.

“Let me take you in, yeah?” Adam said quietly. “If you’re with me we won’t have to wait too long. We’ll get an MRI on your arm, clean it up properly; I can get you antibiotics and there’s stuff I’ll be able to get you for blood loss – “he stopped, because Jordan had started to shake his head vigorously. Then Jordan had to stop, because it was still making him feel dizzy.

“No,” he said, instead. His throat rumbled, out of use, and still needing more water.

“I did think you’d say that.” Adam sighed into his palms and stood up. “Rest up a bit more, okay? Those painkillers will probably knock you out a second time. I can fix you up something to eat when I get back.”

_ Yeah _ , Jordan thought, sliding the blankets back over himself,  _ well I won’t be here _ . And on that thought:

“Adam,” he said, very hoarse. Adam seemed surprised, stopping and turning halfway out the door. “Thanks.” He had to say it now, because he wouldn’t be here to say it, later right? And Adam looked stupidly pleased, undeterred by it all, going all round-cheeked again. When his head bobbed as he leaned back into his grin some dry strands of hair popped free from his quiff. 

“It’s fine,” he said, distinctly like it wasn’t really all that fine, before he disappeared down the stairs. 

_ How will he feel when I’m not here, whenever he gets back?  _ Jordan wondered.  _ Disappointed, probably.  _ He began to pull the assorted blankets around himself again.  _ He’ll get over it _ . 

_ Eight hours is a long time. _

_ I have enough time for a nap, right? _

_ Right. _

* * *

 

Jordan only woke once and it was because he could hear the rain belting against the window. It was kind of soothing, he decided, closing his eyes again. His arm throbbed with a little more urgency now, and he thought about Adam’s painkillers.

You couldn’t trust anyone in this business. But Adam wasn’t in the business. 

Right? He could have been trying to keep Jordan drugged, for whatever reason. But what he’d taken  _ had _ helped.

Anyway, the pain in his arm was more than the visceral pounding he’d felt earlier and escalating by the second. Jordan decided to take his chances and reached for the glass of water. 

The light from the street lamp outside was throwing a kaleidoscope-y effect through the rain and onto the opposite wall.

_ I need internet. I need to find out what happened to Studge. _

_ I can nap for five more minutes,  _ he thought, sliding back flat under the blankets. The sheet under him was all warm, and sitting upright for too long had muddied his head. He tried to think about everything that had happened – about the river, all the blood – seemed very, very far away, in this complete stranger’s house. 

_ It’s weird _ , he thought,  _ isn’t it? All I did was threaten the guy and he was nice to me. It can’t be right. Something has to be going on. _

_ And I’ll think more about it, right after I close my eyes for a bit. _

* * *

 

When Jordan came to this time – deep from the darkness of painkiller induced sleep – he knew he wasn’t alone in the house. Downstairs, he could hear the sounds of cupboards opening and closing without remorse, and the smell of  frying meat hit his nose. 

Adam. It could only be Adam, unafraid to make noise in his own house.

He pulled himself up to sit, reaching reflexively for his arm as it twinged at the blood running from it. There was a slight stain through the bandage. Jordan tried not to think about it.

The glass of water from the bedside table was gone, and he had never needed a drink more in his life. As he pulled the blankets off him, getting immediately colder, he remembered that he was still very naked indeed. And that his clothes were floating down a river somewhere, and in all possibility, on their way out to sea.

He looked at the IKEA cupboard and hoped for a miracle. It came in the form of track pants that left him with cold ankles, and the t-shirt that did look long enough was a little tight across the chest. But with thirst threatening to corrode this throat more with every second it would do.

He still felt sluggish, like his feet were too heavy to lift, as he carefully made his way down the stairs. At the bottom, he spied the MacBook. It was tucked in under the hall table, hidden from anyone looking in through the window.

If Jordan needed to find out what had happened to Studge, the answers were all in there, and his fingers flexed for it. His throat seared when it tightened, as he forgot about the laptop immediately.  _ Water.  _

In the kitchen space, Adam had his back to him where he stood at the hob, sifting around an enormous frying pan with a spatula. Jordan slid into a seat at the counter when he turned, and Adam jumped when he saw him. 

Jordan accepted that being careful in his movements had also lead to him being quiet. He didn’t want to be terrifying around Adam, he owed it to him.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. 

Adam, looking at the high end of worn out, shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said, “I didn’t know if you’d be waking up soon.” He lifted the massive frying pan and tipped an alarmingly large amount of greasy bacon out onto a plate, before he went about cracking eggs. Jordan wondered if it was for him, then wondered if his stomach was up for it.

“I was looking for water,” he tried to explain. 

Adam stared at him blankly for a second, then his face lit up. “Sorry!” Jordan had no idea why on earth he would apologise. “I completely… after a full night I get really hungry and I… sorry!” He clunked around the kitchen without seeming to do anything in particular, and before Jordan knew it a large glass of water had materialised in front of him, and Adam was back at the frying pan saving his eggs. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked, cradling his plate in front of him as he turned to face the counter.

The smell was turning Jordan’s stomach a bit. He stared deep into his glass and shook his head.

He couldn’t understand it: Adam was oblivious to everything, hoovering up his breakfast, scooping it into his mouth hungrily with his fork – Jordan could only assume it was time for breakfast – while treating Jordan like an ordinary house guest. Or worse: like he was already comfortable having him there. 

Nothing about Adam – mainly, the lack of police, ambulances and members of other gangs in the house, for now – indicated that he was any less genuine than he was trying very hard to come across as. Jordan couldn’t be too careful, and so he forced his back to straighten. To be ready.

_ Can I – What about –  _ “Shower?” he asked suddenly. 

Adam paused with his knife and fork still in mid-air. Yet, this was enough information for him as he joined the dots with worrying ease. 

“Sure,” he said. “Bathroom’s just at the top of the stairs. Hold on.” He slid the plate onto the counter and dropped behind it, and Jordan had opened his mouth to ask the question when Adam reappeared with a roll of cling film in hand. 

“Your bandage can’t get wet,” he explained, and with no warning, curled his hand around the inside of Jordan’s elbow. It was unexpected but nice – Adam didn’t seem to have much of a grip. 

He squinted at the bandage. “Come down to me when you’re done,” he said, running one finger under the edge of it. “I’ll have to change that.”

Jordan brought the glass of water with him, and this time scooped up the Mac on his way upstairs. He reckoned he had five minutes before his shower became far too long, and so he let it load up on the bathroom floor as he began to run the water.

He was used to layer-upon-layer of cyber security as the norm, and so he crouched down on all fours to stare at the computer, definitely for far too long, when instead of password prompts he was faced with a welcoming  _ ping!  _ And a web browser.

Adam had been looking for him. In what was almost amateurish enough to be cute, the words _Jordan_ and _ambush_ were still typed in the search box of one of the city’s main broadsheets. It wasn’t really all that far away from what Jordan wanted to do, but Adam was never going to find anything looking like that. 

Jordan would need more than a few minutes to check the usual places for news of hits by other gangs – he’d have to search off the grid, in the dark web. Murder and ambush in a residential area might just have been enough for some newspaper inches, but with quick scan of their sites Jordan found nothing; even as the quality of reporting decreased – with a lot of focus instead on a new mayor, elected with big promises and on an anti-mob platform. There wasn’t even a hint of Studge to be found here, and frustration flared inside Jordan, hot and angry. Without even bothering to cover his tracks he snapped the computer shut again. 

Adam was sitting cross-legged on the couch with his breakfast on his lap with Jordan came back downstairs, pausing only briefly to slide Adam’s computer back where he’d found it. Jordan thought it did seem to be taking a really long time for Adam to eat, and it wasn’t until he sat down beside him that he recognised how strong the frying smell still was and considered that it might be seconds. 

“Give me a sec,” Adam said cheerfully, getting back to his feet with his plate in hand, in a movement that was somehow all elbows. The breakfast show on TV was muted, so Jordan let his eyes follow the only sound in the room. Too late, he’d been watching Adam washing his hands, and he only realised when Adam turned around and beamed at him, with a grin that was as goofy as it was wide. 

He thought about Adam’s hasty search for him in the crime archives, and tried to buy into that smile a little less. He rearranged himself a little more rigidly on the seat. 

Adam climbed back up beside him, crossing his legs as he pulled himself closer. He balanced a first aid box between them now. 

“Does it still hurt?” he asked. 

Jordan, staring decidedly at the breakfast show panel, shrugged. 

“Is that a yes?” Adam asked, unpeeling the tape that held the bandage down and slowly unwrapping it. Jordan was very aware of the press of all of Adam’s fingers on him. Maybe it was because his arm was very hot, and Adam’s fingers felt soothing and cool in comparison. 

There were several long seconds of silence as Jordan thought about it. Too long.

“No bone,” Adam said. “I couldn’t see bone, and there was a clean exit. You are so lucky, you know. We just need to watch for infection now, but you should be okay if we mind it.”

“I’m sorry,” Jordan blurted out, because he’d been thinking:  _ I was mostly lucky that I decided to steal your particular car _ .

“It’s not a problem,” Adam said simply.

“No, I – “Jordan couldn’t look at the TV anymore and couldn’t look at Adam either, so he elected to shut his eyes, “I tried to steal your car. With a gun.”

Adam had been placing small, thin plasters across Jordan’s wounds to close them, and went quiet. 

“I was desperate. I’m sorry.  _ Really  _ sorry.”

Adam was frowning a little when Jordan’s eyes opened, turning his elbow out with one hand and spreading a generous amount of a pale ointment around the edge of each hole with another. 

“It’s to clean it,” he said, when he saw Jordan looking. Then, to keep the subject change going: “I’m in orthopaedics. Normally I deal with bones, but you have to get handy with a little of everything if you do night shifts in A&E. I only wish fractures waited until daytime hours, but, with the way things are at the moment – “

“Why are you being nice,” Jordan said dully. 

Adam’s tongue curled up around his top lip in concentration. “Hippocratic oath,” he said, deadpan, and Jordan would have almost believed him if his face hadn’t immediately split into a grin. “Nah. You’re a good house guest, so far.”

More silence. Adam was still grinning. Jordan felt like pointing out that he had bled on everything Adam owned.

“And it got funny when it turned out you were naked.”

Jordan felt himself flush. Which was weird, since he’d been acting totally without shame since they’d met. “That’s irrelevant,” he said.

Adam raised an eyebrow as he snickered a little. Then he coughed, breaking the spell. Jordan had been thinking about how large his eyes were.  _ As threatening as a very tiny kitten _ .

“How did you end up there, anyway?” Adam asked. “In the car park.” Jordan felt the slight undercurrent to the question – Adam was still trying to figure out how he’d been shot. Too bad, Jordan still didn’t feel like answering:  _ a rival gang came after my best friend, and I ran.  _

“Why were  _ you  _ there?” he shot back. It was a dumb retort, but he hadn’t been thinking about Studge, hadn’t done anything  _ for  _ Studge and instead was napping in really soft, large beds with lots of blankets and flirting with chatty, smiley doctors.

Flirting? Okay, at a stretch. He just wasn’t used to anyone touching him with this level of careful and it was having a profound effect on his heart rate.

Adam pressed down the gauze on either side of Jordan’s arm as he started to loop the bandage. He opened his mouth to speak, and stopped again. Jordan hadn’t been around him long, but he could already tell that it was unusual for Adam to be at a loss for words.

“It’s kind of a weird one,” he said, pausing with the bandage to scratch his nose. 

_ Oh, I promise you, buddy,  _ Jordan thought,  _ I can go weirder. _

“I was meant to be on a date.”

The harsh  _ snip  _ of the scissors on the bandage made Jordan jump a little, and let out a surprised “Oh”.

Adam licked his lip again as he carefully fastened the end of it in place with some masking tape. He turned a little awkwardly and settled back in against the back of the couch.

The television stayed muted.

“It was a work set up,” Adam explained delicately. The lid of the first aid kit snapped shut. “The fact it was organised a couple of hours before a night shift should tell you all you need to know.”

“Did I save you?” Jordan asked. He couldn’t hide the smug way it came out, and Adam gave him a weird look from under heavy eyelids; probably about the irony of it. 

“I didn’t mind cancelling,” he said pointedly. “Pass me the remote, it’s down the cushion on your other side. I told him I had car trouble.”

This time Jordan grinned a little too.

* * *

 

Adam was asleep half an hour later. He’d excused himself to go to the bathroom, but when Jordan went back upstairs to find him, Adam was flopped face-down on one side of the bed, with one foot on and one foot off, his toe brushing the floor. Distinct, wheezy snores sounded from where he’d smushed head-first into the pillow. And Jordan was suddenly grinning again.

Downstairs, he made himself a sandwich with a lot of butter and some leftover bacon, feeling slightly ill as he inhaled it. 

Adam had a nice home – all magnolia walls and mismatched kitchen utensils, and IKEA’s plushest sofas. Jordan thought about Adam’s date now, how it was a little sad that he was so animated but lived here by himself. 

_ Stop it,  _ he thought.  _ Maybe he has lots of friends. Maybe he goes on lots of dates. Christ,  _ stop it!

It was still raining outside but the sky had lightened. It had been at least twelve hours since he’d jumped in the river. 

_ Studge. _

Adam had been asleep. Adam had been  _ really _ asleep, right? So he fished out the computer again, from right where he’d left it. This time, he took careful pains to erase his search history, as boring as it was; and could prepare to venture into Tor, into the deep corner of the internet where nothing could be traced, and most importantly, this kind of thing could be found out. 

And yet.

The last, and only time, Jordan had worked with the encryption he had been under Dejan’s careful tutelage, tucked up all nice and safe and injury free at headquarters. Jordan tried to pull together the steps to make it work, but the more he tried to grasp at them the less they seemed to fit together, and when the full blank hit, Jordan found himself on his feet and pacing; the laptop forgotten on the couch. 

“Lower level mobster” had sounded so much better than “overwhelmingly underprepared foot solider”. The edge of the couch took a kick for his grievance, an angry  _ whoosh  _ in his chest. He’d been trained, drilled to within an inch of his life, but now that it  _ mattered  _ he could not form a single, coherent thought; even to save Studge. 

He bit back a frustrated yell, and kicked at the couch again when he passed it.

There was a house phone on the table beside the door, and his hand lingered over it.

This was riskier, but Jordan could not sit around and do  _ nothing.  _ They all knew the police had the phones tapped, despite the outward masquerade of their headquarters as drycleaners.  _ Kloppite Klean _ . No way would any real, self-respecting drycleaner call themselves that. But what if whoever had Studge had a wire on them too?

What if they could track him here?

What if they got Adam, with all of his bacon and blind faith?

Jordan was already scooping the car keys up from beside the phone. It would have been too lucky if he shared a shoe size with Adam too, as he attempted to toe on several varieties from the pile just inside the door. 

In the end, he settled for the slippers, even though his heel hung over the open end a little, and Adam’s duffel coat, which actually fit. Maybe Adam only looked small because he bought clothes that were too big for him. Both of these options offered very little protection from the rain when he stepped out into it, but nothing could make him more uncomfortable than he already felt.

He let the car roll back, growingly quietly as he reversed it down the drive. His arm felt stiff and swollen, even now he was only using it to gently steer as he crawled through the estate, reaching across his body to change gear.  _ I can’t believe I was deluded enough to think I was going to  _ drive  _ it.  _

He crawled out of the estate, praying he would remember the twists and turns, and out onto the street. He decided it was rush hour, and finally, some luck; the traffic in the street crawled too. 

Maybe it was deluded, too, to think that phone boxes were still a thing, but on his third lap of a widening block he found one. He helped himself to the large amount of change in Adam’s cup holder and ducked out into the rain. 

He tried the number of Klopp’s burner phone first, his heart sinking into his stomach when the frenetic beeps let him know that the number was no longer it in use. It had been a long shot, but also his best shot. Klopp would have a plan, and now Jordan was still stuck in a random phone box, in God-knows-where, without one.

He took a deep breath, and went for Plan B. 

Dejan picked up on the first ring. 

“It’s me,” Jordan said. Then, “Hendo.”

Dejan sucked in a lot of air at the end of the line. Jordan had hoped it was shock, but then he realised it was a yawn. 

“What?” Dejan mumbled. Jordan could distinctly make out the sound of him rubbing his face awake. “ _ What? _ ”

“It’s  _ Hendo _ ,” Jordan said, trying not to sound too impatient. Rain streamed down the side of the plastic outside of the phone box, he could barely see the car through it. Maybe he should have got a ticket for it. Adam wouldn’t appreciate a tow.  _ Adam wouldn’t appreciate you borrowing it in the first place. _

_ Well, it’s for his own good. If it wasn’t so nice to be around him, I would have had no issues bringing the mafia down on his house. _

“Jordan?” Dejan yawned, as though he was returning a greeting. Then his breath stopped. “ _ Jordan!  _ Henderson?”

“It’s me,” Jordan said, to a much more satisfactory scrambling noise at the end of the phone. 

“You’re… you’re okay?  _ It’s Hendo, _ ” the last was hissed away from the mouthpiece. “Shit.  _ Shit _ . What happened? Where are you?”

“Lying low,” Jordan replied. He swallowed. “Studge?”

“We thought you – in the river – jeez, but they didn’t find a body, did they?”

“ _ Studge,  _ Dejan.” Jordan’s knuckles stood out in relief, as he pressed them deep into his side.  _ Calm.  _

So they knew. He’d called Dejan because he knew he’d be straight with him, but maybe that was actually a huge mistake. He didn’t know how he’d deal with bad news in a freezing telephone booth with two shot wounds that seemed to twinge more in response to emotion. 

“Well,” Dejan said, returning to the mouthpiece. 

“He’s alive?” Jordan’s heart pounded. His arm spasmed.

“They made contact, alright.”

_ He’s alive _ , Jordan thought. Sang, loud and clear inside his own head.  _ He’s alive! He’s alive!  _

“Who?” he asked.

“We don’t know yet. Hendo…”

“What do you mean, you don’t  _ know _ ?” What on earth had they been  _ doing _ ?

“God, because people just don’t sign their ransom notes anymore,” Dejan said. Hendo decided that he was trying to joke. “We’re piecing it together, but we think it has something to with your last deal. They’ve taken Studge in and we don’t know if it’s because they want to talk or do a swap, okay?”

Jordan paused. “The Chelsea one?” he asked. It was true, it hadn’t been their turf, exactly. It was technically Antonio Conté’s, a terrifying human with eyes that were a light enough blue, it was almost as though he had no iris at all.  _ Terrifying _ . 

“How sure?” he asked.

“About eighty percent,” Dejan replied.

Jordan tried to think back to yesterday on the footbridge. For anything that might help, for any useful details about the ambush. But the memory muddied.  _ Think, Jordan!  _ He felt very hot all of a sudden, and pressed his forehead to the cold glass. 

“Do you need me to come in? How can I help?”

“Stay low. Just until we do the swap.”

Dejan’s voice dropped. Jordan pressed the phone tighter against his ear, on a reflex, as though that might help or something. He could almost sense Klopp’s visceral anger. He should have stayed dead a little longer, long enough for them to get Studge back. Taking out one of Klopp’s men would have been a threat towards Klopp, but Jordan getting away would be the opposite, and it would up the asking price.

“I had to know,” he murmured. 

“I understand,” Dejan said gently. “You guys are close.”

Jordan already felt overwhelmingly guilty. He hadn’t thought. And didn’t he already know that the phones were tapped?

“I’m not going apologise for surviving,” he snapped. They were meant to be a family, right? What kind of family’s best advice was telling him to stay dead?

“I’m not asking you to,” Dejan said coolly. Then he cleared his throat. “I’m glad you’re okay, buddy. We’re all delighted, alright?”

Jordan felt stupid and useless, and Dejan’s words were meant to help, but didn’t. 

“Okay,” he croaked. “I’ll try again in a couple of days.” The phone pipped a little to let him know he was low on change, and he slammed it down onto the receiver. He only didn’t feel petulant for a second. 

_ They don’t want me _ , he thought.  _ I’m useless to them.  _ He swung a kick at the side of the box, doing more harm to his big toe than the graffitied plastic – he really had to stop kicking things, it didn’t help anything for all the temporary relief it did offer. His injured arm throbbed with more force, and he slid his hand over the bandage. Warmth beat against his fingers. 

The team would continue without him; Klopp’s work would go on and he wouldn’t be a part of it. This all hadn’t really been a small deal, a means of having satellite TV, had it? It had slowly become more of a job to him, and being cast out in the cold with no help was a harsh perspective. In this world, he was so disposable.

Studge wasn’t disposable though – it would be a standard hostage swap, where they’d provide the request, and he’d be handed over without a scratch. Possibly this had been his kidnapper’s backup plan, once it turned out they’d lived a shootout. Now, Jordan just wanted to  _ help _ .

Adam walked right into his head, then, and Jordan managed to take a deep breath. Adam stayed there, as Jordan left the phone box and managed to navigate the car back around the block. He took a few wrong turns in the housing estate but eventually pulled up the short driveway.

He sat in the car for a few more seconds as he let the engine die. If Adam was mad, he thought, the door would be open. The curtain would twitch. Adam could definitely have called the police. 

He waited some more. Nothing happened.

A thought occurred to him, and he leaned over the passenger side. He eventually found his gun, wedged tight down the side of the seat. He was sure it was useless now, all that water couldn’t have been good for the mechanics of it, but he stowed it carefully into the frame of the seat, on the underside of the cushion. Adam would never know it was there, and it would be useful if it turned out that Adam needed protecting. Jordan had a pretty strong sense that Adam was someone who needed protecting, and it wasn’t down to his slightness or anything – he had, after all, recently taken in the guy who tried to steal his car and had offered to make him breakfast. Liverpool wasn’t a nice city – it hadn’t been in living memory, and Adam should know that. He was just lucky Jordan liked him. 

Inside the door, he hid the soggy slippers deep under the shoe pile at the front door. The duffle coat he could do nothing about, so he’d have to cross his fingers on that one and hope it dried out before Adam thought to touch it.

All the lights were still off. Carefully, he placed the keys down on the hall table, without even a rattle. He tiptoed up the stairs.

Adam was exactly where he’d left him, face-down on the bed. His snores were a little louder now, one of his arms still twisted awkwardly under him. As Jordan slid onto the other side of the bed, he spotted a distinct dribble patch on the pillow, and smiled. 

_ We made it. Studge and I both survived a mob hit. It’s a miracle, isn’t it? _

He slid down on his side. With every deep breath, Adam’s ribs rose massively from the sheet, and some of his very soft fringe was tucked under his forehead where he turned his head. Without his smile, he did look tired – a little purply under the eyes, his bottom lip looking distinctly over-chewed. Just looking at him made Jordan feel tired. 

Maybe it was the relief. He’d been feeling sleepy ever since he’d got back into the car after his call with Dejan. 

_ Studge is  _ alive _.  _

_ You’re going to get him back.  _

_ Everything will go back to normal.  _

_ Will I have scars?  _ He thought suddenly.  _ If I have scars on my arm, will I think about Adam?  _

He stretched his arm out towards him, twisting flat on the bed. He was asleep before he’d finished the movement.

* * *

 

It seemed to take Jordan a lot longer to part the mist and wake up. Groggy, he pulled himself up to sit and found himself staring at Adam’s cupboards for far too long before it clicked: the soaring  _ woosh  _ of helicopter propellers overhead had tickled his reflexes awake.

Jordan righted himself slowly, and shuffled along the edge of the bed until he could sit close enough to the window to be able to angle his head for a view.

It was the police – it was printed in stark white on the side of the aircraft.  _ Sitting ducks _ , Jordan thought dully. They were taking wide circles overhead, so nothing to do with Jordan; although he would have been flattered if they had been.

“They do that a few times a day.”

Adam’s voice didn’t slur at all behind him. He’d already been awake, but Jordan hadn’t even thought to look. He turned slightly so he could, now: Adam was on his back watching him, his clothes a little creased and with half of his hair still stuck to his face.

Jordan took his comment to mean:  _ they aren’t looking for you. _

He turned back to look out the window, watched the helicopter tilt into a turn. The bed shifted under him as Adam rolled up and stood. Jordan could hear him coming by the sound of him scratching his scalp as he righted his bed hair. When he sat himself down again, right beside Jordan on the bed, Jordan didn’t turn. Mostly because he was too startled.

Adam watched him for a long minute, he could feel it, then redirected this gaze out the window, fidgeting a little. Jordan could give a wild guess as to what he wanted to know.

“It’s meant to make us feel safe,” Adam said, about the helicopter. Not the question he wanted to ask.

“Does it?” Jordan asked. 

Adam shuffled beside him instead of giving an answer.

Could Jordan tell him? Despite the news that had come from it, Jordan regretted calling Dejan now. Aloneness hung like weights pressing down on his shoulders, made it impossible for him to really gather himself. The chopping of helicopter propellers through the daytime didn’t help with that, either. 

The total, obsolete, self-deprecating loneliness lasted a fraction of a second, because Adam touched him; the touch was electric, just on the outside of his elbow, and not just because it was sudden: because the bubble he’d been trying to build around himself burst.

Adam reacted to his jump, and Jordan’s eyes fixed first on his hands tangled in his lap.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he snapped suddenly, still a little shocked.

“I wasn’t going to ask,” Adam murmured, his head bowed. 

“Yeah, right.” Jordan turned back to the window. The helicopter sounds had stopped, and he ducked his head to get a better view of the sky.

He heard Adam’s preparatory intake of breath.

“You’re one of them,” he said. 

“One of what?” Jordan felt part of exactly nothing at that particular moment.

Adam’s next breath sounded a bit strangled, so Jordan decided to put him out of his misery. “Whatever you’re thinking,” he said, “probably.”

“Okay,” Adam said, although mostly to himself. “ _ Okay. _ ”

The helicopter was well and truly gone, and Jordan was running out of ways to avoid this conversation. Then Adam did the weirdest thing. He touched Jordan again – this time to run what felt like the edge of a fingernail, flattening down the edge of Jordan’s bandage.

Jordan could not move a muscle. But it wasn’t pushy, or sinister – for all intents and purposes, Adam might as well have been doodling on a piece of paper. Yet it was almost impossible to return to that overwhelming feeling of isolation when he did.

“I’ll start,” Adam said. Jordan had been about to ask what he meant by start, into the long pause, when he continued: “I don’t know why I’m even here anymore.”

“What?” Jordan said it anyway, even if it for a different reason. 

Adam shrugged. “I moved here to help people.” He ducked his head towards the ground suddenly. Ashamed. “I’m a doctor, of course I did. But it’s not always that simple, yeah?”

“ _ Why _ ?” Surprise made his questions sharp, and Adam’s hand dropped away. Jordan even lifted his own hand to chase it, before realising exactly what he was doing, briefly forgetting completely about fearing for his life so he could burn alive with embarrassment, and hastily reversing the motion.

Adam shifted his gaze away, towards the bedroom door. “You get all self-righteous when you hear about what goes on up here,” he said slowly. “It sounds stupid, but you do. None of – this sounds really stupid, but – I don’t help people in a vacuum.”

“What do you mean?” Jordan asked, because he felt like it was the right question. 

Adam laughed, a little hollowly: more of a cough. “I’m wrapped up in this much as you are. No,” he said, when Jordan opened his mouth with a very urgent question, “not  _ like  _ you are. You know: some guy gets taken from his house for some  _ friendly  _ bargaining, so like, they’re gonna call an ambulance after they’re done. The first time this kind of patient arrives in front of you, you think, okay. Now it’s…” he paused, his tongue curling down over his lower lip, “constant. I’m  _ part  _ of it just by being here and this like in the chain, I’m part of all the horrible things that happen up here.  _ Awful  _ things.”

Jordan took a deep breath. Deliberately, he brushed the edge of his knuckles against Adam’s knee. Adam was very warm.

“You could leave,” he offered, knowing Adam would shake his head.

“Who wouldn’t want a workplace without morning pep-talks on who shouldn’t be in wards together, who shouldn’t even be admitted, and the like,” Adam replied. “I mean I trained in a wonderful hospital at home, in Bournemouth. My college friends have their own clinics. I could too, by now.”

“And?”

“I’m in too deep.” Adam’s shrug was massive, Jordan left his hand at the curve of his knee. “If I leave there isn’t anyone to take my place. No one will come here any more.”

Jordan, himself, had come to Liverpool at the promise of untold wealth if you were strong, didn’t ask many questions and knew the right people. Work was being outsourced – people like Klopp came from overseas, all the way from Germany - to manage things. Projects. Territory. Payment schemes for protection.

Jordan had been lucky: those right people had become more of a family to him than he’d ever known, he’d grown with them. Yet there was still a sizeable dent in the doorway of a phone box out there, left by a firm visit from Jordan’s foot and Adam’s slipper.

_ Disposable.  _ Had he ever needed them to be like this for him before? Despite the real blood he had on his hands from working for them?

“My turn,” he said finally, meeting Adam’s eyes when they lifted. 

“And?” Adam shifted a little closer, surprised; his eyes going all googly with his curiosity.

“And I still don’t want to talk about it.”

If Jordan had only now just realised that he, too, was in this far too deep; there wasn’t much Adam was going to be able to do to help.

Right?

So why did his insides flip uncomfortably when Adam’s face dropped into disappointment? And why did he have to curl his fingers into the mattress so as not to follow him when he got up and left the room? 

* * *

 

It was much brighter when he woke up again. The t-shirt on his back sunk, damp, into the crevice of his spine, and the back of his knees felt sticky when he tried to move them.

Adam was still gone, although the reminder of him hung around the creased sheets on the other side of the bed.

Jordan tried to lift his head, but it weighed like a brick. He had to inch up, slide into a sitting position at the edge of the bed. 

His arm throbbed, stinging the whole way into his elbow. He gritted his teeth, clasping his hand around it. It felt swollen from the inside, thrumming Jordan’s heartbeat back at him.

_ More painkillers,  _ he thought. He waited for the dizziness to subside again – it came in waves, hard enough to knock him sideways – and stood up.

He tried to call Adam as he made his way towards the stairs, using his shoulder as a crutch against the wall, his hand preoccupied with pressing down on his damp bandage. 

He made it to the end of the landing and flopped down to sit at on the first step, his legs slipping out from under him.

_ What’s wrong with me _ , he thought, his dry throat straining with the whine. 

“Adam,” he coughed downstairs, “ _ Adam! _ ”

He crawled backwards, nudging open the door to the bathroom. The ceramic of the sink was cold,  _ so cold  _ against his forehead, and then the side of his neck, and against his bandage as he pulled himself upright with slippery fingers clinging to the rim. 

He didn’t remember running the water, but it felt glorious to dunk his face under it. He may even have moaned a bit. Heaviness at the back of his throat subsided a little.

After several long seconds, he turned off the tap and reached for the hand towel, feeling a whole lot colder, shivering with enormous chest spasms.

_ I’m fine _ , he thought.  _ I’m better.  _ He dabbed his face dry and refused to look at his reflection, knowing full well that he looked like crap. He straightened – stiff deep in his bones – and turned with the help of the edge of the sink.

_ Maybe I need an aspirin too _ , he thought.  _ Maybe I have a fever _ . 

He did already feel better, making his way down the stairs completely upright. 

Adam was on the couch, he saw out of the corner of his eye, drawn to him when Adam hit mute again. Jordan had to keep his eyes forward to stop himself from stumbling before he reached the kitchen sink. “You, uh,” Adam was scrambling after him, “had a bit of a snooze there. How are you feeling.”

“Hurts a little,” Jordan mumbled, about the searing fire that wrapped itself around his upper arm. 

“I might need to clean it again,” Adam appeared around his front, began to run the tap.

“No,” Jordan said, clenching his teeth to quell the shakes, “just something for the pain.”

“Really?” Adam’s features had been all soft, all malleable – guilty maybe for pressing Jordan for answers when they’d last spoken. But he frowned, sensing a fib. “Let me see it.”

Jordan tucked his shoulder back as Adam reached for it – and Jordan was so used to his soft features by now that Adam’s sudden determination was almost comical.

“ _ No _ ,” he said, quickly. “I just… need to sleep a bit more.”

“You just had an eight-hour nap.”

“I – “Jordan had been caught up in the time calculation, and became distracted enough to let his arm fall back into Adam’s grabbing distance.

This time, Jordan took several quick steps back to avoid him, and the dizziness hit him like a tidal wave. He rocked forward, reaching for something to hold him steady and his good hand landed on Adam. It twisted into Adam’s t-shirt, which couldn’t seem to hold him either and, looking alarmed, Adam grabbed him, fastening his hands tight around his ribs.

“You’re not okay,” he said, sudden and adorable once again. 

_ Adorable?  _ Jordan’s head swam around the word. But yes. At the same time he couldn’t deny that he hadn’t rather thought so.

Jordan wanted to reply – with those thoughts or otherwise, he would never know - but Adam’s hands on him were throwing him a bit. He tipped forward, his cheek meeting Adam’s ear, feeling him stumble under his weight. 

“Go away,” he whined, to the ringing noise between his ears.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Adam yelped. “Jordan,  _ stand up –  _ “

His cheek was kind of scratchy where it rubbed off the side of Jordan’s face. Jordan desperately tried to right himself without his world spinning.

“Dizzy,” he said weakly. He pulled Adam closer. Lifted his head. Found his mouth near Adam’s, like a dream, and their lips banged when he stumbled again.

“Ow,” Adam said, muffled now as he tried to use his head to lift Jordan upright by pressing it against his shoulder. Jordan thought:  _ I sort of imagine that that first kiss would be a bit different.  _

“Jordan,” Adam was saying. Whispering. His eyes were all brown, and big, and googly again, and flickered over every edge of Jordan’s face. “You’re so hot.”

Jordan might have purred.

“No,” Adam said. Red. Brightening, ripening, red. “You’re,” he let go of him, pressing one palm up against Jordan’s forehead, “ _ roasting _ .” His hand curled around his cheek now, frowning, letting Jordan lean into it.  _ For balance,  _ he told himself. Then he grabbed Jordan’s bad arm with both of his. 

“But I  _ cleaned it _ ,” Adam said, horrified. “It’s  _ clean _ .” He ripped at the bandage. Jordan shouldn’t have watched him, but he did. Both cuts were leaking thick yellow, the smell harsh as it hit his nose. Adam’s hands lingered over Jordan’s skin where it purpled.

“We have to go to the hospital,” he said. “We should have gone in the first place. I  _ told you  _ it would get infected.”

“No,” Jordan choked. Adam had all his same softness except that his eyebrows ran in a straight line over his eyes. “I can’t.” Adam, although clearly waiting for an explanation, started hitching Jordan’s shoulder up over his. 

“I’m meant to be dead,” Jordan babbled, his head spinning, and he let it fall against Adam’s. “I’m meant to  _ stay  _ dead.”

“How would being dead feel without an arm?” Adam asked drily. “Not on my watch.”

“No – “ 

With one hand, Adam had wedged the front door open, and now he did the same with the passenger side of the car.

“You’re not going to tell me who did this to you,” he said, panting, at Jordan disposed in a sprawl on the seat. “You aren’t going to tell me  _ why _ . So,” he slammed the door shut, “you don’t get to stay  _ dead _ ,” he finished, hissing through the glass. 

Jordan thought about reaching for his gun under the seat, but thought better of it. He wouldn’t have been able to right himself if he bent over anyway, and he had the suspicion that Adam knew Jordan would never use it on him. 

Adam was starting the car before he’d even fully righted himself in the driver’s seat.

“I don’t  _ understand _ ,” he hissed, twisting to look behind him as he reversed. “I  _ cleaned it.  _ It was  _ clean _ .”

Fury on Adam, Jordan thought, was very endearing, actually. He could have been scary if his hair wasn’t so fluffy. And he wasn’t so teeny-tiny.

“It could have been the river,” he said, because staring at Adam’s face for long periods of time was weirdly soothing. “I was in the river for a while after. That’s why I had my clothes off, so I’d float.”

Adam braked so hard that Jordan found himself practically flung onto the dashboard.

“That would have been  _ extremely relevant, _ ” he yelped.

“Can we go back in now? I’m fine.” Jordan wanted to sleep. He couldn’t help feeling that a good dose of painkillers and a bit of time spent lying horizontally would solve a lot of his problems.

“ _ No! _ ”

* * *

 

Jordan accidentally had another nap. He hadn’t meant to – the hospital bed he’d been tucked into wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the one in Adam’s house – and he was meant to be alert, meant to be on edge. He didn’t trust the nurse, for starters, who had hooked him up to his IV; because it stung, and he was too happy about it and he asked  _ a lot  _ of questions. Although, pain medication in injected form was a hell of a lot more efficient, and already had made the whole trip worth it. 

He was surprised he’d even slept, but he was relieved, and a little bit pleased, to find he’d been woken up because Adam was very gently examining the new dressing on his, now much cleaner, arm. 

“Hi,” he said, and Adam jumped, looking immediately guilty for waking him up. He looked a little washed out in the white of his doctor’s coat – clearly having replaced the one Jordan had bled all over. 

“Sorry,” he replied, and grinned. Jordan was forgiven. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“’Tis fine.” It was really fine. 

“I think you’re going to live,” Adam patted his hand.

“I think I was always going to live.”

Adam placed Jordan’s arm carefully down on the bed again. Jordan liked how his touch lingered. He couldn’t help but remember that they’d accidentally banged heads and he’d been feverish enough to consider it a kiss. But, now the thought was there again, and it beat expectantly around the inside of his head.

There were a couple of really nice seconds where he felt his smile growing, then he realised his smile was growing and quickly dropped his eyes. He lifted his other arm and shook the IV a little.

“Do I really need this?” he asked.

Adam nodded. “Best way to get those antibodies in you.”

Jordan looked at it in distaste.

“Phil stung you with it when he put it in, didn’t he?” Adam asked. He pulled a chair over beside the bed and sat down.

“Is Phil the nurse with the attitude?” Jordan asked, the memory still lingering.

Adam snorted. “It’s only because you won’t tell him anything. He’s just nosey.”

“ _ He’s  _ nosey?”

Adam looked quickly over his shoulder. The nurse, Phil, was watching them shiftily from where he was meant to be examining a patient at the other end of the room. 

“He’s the one who sets me up on dates,” Adam said, carefully, like he was choosing his words, “if that explains anything. You have tattoos, so. He probably didn’t think I could pull anyone that cool.”

A few seconds later he seemed to realise what he’d said, and his face burst into flames.

“Oh really,” Jordan teased. “Because  _ that’s  _ what happened.” He threw his eyes around the ward again, not really sure what he was looking for. He felt unexpectedly relaxed, it made the words flow so easily. He decided it must have been whatever was in the drip. “Don’t you have patients?”

Adam looked down quickly at Jordan’s arm. “It’s meant to be my day off,” he said, chewing on his lip. “I operated on two double fractures last night and I need a break, so if I hide over here no one will see me. It’s a slow day in here for once,” every bed was full, surrounded by people, “I just want to hang around until your bloods get back from the lab, then maybe I can take you home.” He went red again, and quiet, but Jordan missed all of it, because he spotted the epitome of a shifty figure at the entrance to the ward and, worst of all, he  _ recognised him _ . 

No drugs in the world could have stopped the panic that rushed into his internal cavity.

“Adam,” he said carefully. “Did you put any of my details, in any kind of system?” Would they have been keeping tabs on him for this long? Dejan had said Conté was behind Studge’s disappearance. This had to be it.

Adam looking a little guilty right now was all he needed to know.

“You didn’t specify shot wounds, did you?” He decided that he didn’t need to know the answer. “I have to get out of here.”

He reached across to grab the IV from his arm, but with a small yelp Adam reached the whole way across him to stop him.

“ _ Why _ ,” he said, and Jordan might have got distracted all up in his space, but he had bigger problems. 

“A guy just came in,” Jordan snarled. “For  _ me _ .”

“He’s not going to start something in a  _ hospital ward _ ,” Adam scoffed a little, incredulous. Then a little wide-eyed, “is he?”

Jordan couldn’t quite articulate how much he most definitely would. He glared at Adam instead.

“Oh,” Adam said, once again with forced calm. Then, “do you trust me?”

_ Well,  _ Jordan thought,  _ you’ve been pretty good at keeping me alive so far.  _ He nodded.

“I’m going to let go of your arm,” Adam began slowly, as the plan began to form behind his eyes. “I’ll pull the curtain around the bed, it’ll give us a couple of minutes to get the drip out. You can’t just  _ pull  _ it,” he added sternly. “This isn’t a movie.”

Jordan felt surprisingly ashamed. He nodded again. 

Adam let go a little carefully, like he wasn’t quite sure he trusted Jordan, actually –  _ fair,  _ Jordan decided,  _ I held him at gunpoint and have told him exactly nothing about me  _ – but he did as asked, drawing the curtain easily and rounding the edge of the bed towards the IV stand.

Jordan kept watch, as though he could see right through the curtain. Not because the thought of how Adam was going to pull a piece of plastic from his arm made him squeamish. Despite  _ everything.  _

“Alright,” Adam said, still out of his line of vision. Jordan felt something like a thumb press down on the inside hinge of his elbow. “Which guy was it? I’ll get Phil to have a word – “

“- don’t – “

“– to distract him and get you out the door,” Jordan could practically hear the eye roll, “I’m an amateur, not stupid. Phil will find something pointless to say, trust me.” He held out his t-shirt, the one Jordan had stolen from his wardrobe, helping him back into it. His hands faltered a little pulling it down the tattoo on Jordan’s rib. Jordan was sure with all the fevering he’d done that the t-shirt smelled a little, but then, why only get embarrassed  _ now _ . 

“It’s the guy in the black suit,” he said. “Sharpest haircut you’ve ever seen.”

Adam disappeared back out the curtain, but not before he’d cracked a grin. Jordan swung his legs over the side of the bed, ready to go, pulling flimsy hospital slippers out from under it. This had to be his most refreshing nap yet, but real danger probably helped with this revitalised alertness – something he’d being trying so hard to feel in the bubble of Adam’s home. His arm still hurt, and pulsed a little, but it no longer felt four times its size, and he could stretch out his fingers with what felt like ease.

“Alright,” Adam said, reappearing. His hair stood up static where it rubbed off the curtain. “Come on.”

They almost made it. Really, they almost made it past Conté’s man, it was almost perfect. But Jordan couldn’t help looking up as they walked past, and he must have felt Jordan’s eyes on him because he looked up, too.

Jordan saw the recognition spread across his face and his stomach dropped.  _ Eden Hazard _ , he thought, recognising with sudden clarity the face provided by their best intel,  _ Conté’s best finisher _ .

He sped up, catching up to Adam in front of him and scooping him along with him when he circled an arm around his back.

“He saw me,” he said, “I need to hide.”

Adam took a quick look over his shoulder, and out of the corner of his eye, Jordan saw him pale.

“He has a  _ gun _ ,” he hissed. “Why didn’t you tell me he had a  _ gun _ .”

_ Because I didn’t know _ felt like an unhelpful answer. Jordan upped his pace and Adam stumbled a little, trying to keep up. He clung tight to Jordan, who swerved to avoid a trolley – the corridors were jammed, and this was meant to be a slow day? 

“ _ Left _ ,” Adam said suddenly, and tugged Jordan’s shirt with him when he ducked down another corridor. Then another in quick succession and, finally, through a door. 

It took Jordan several seconds to accustom to the dimmed light. They were in a supplies closet, surrounded by stacks of folded scrubs and boxes of latex gloves and stethoscopes.  _ Well, it is a hospital _ , he decided.

There was barely enough space for Adam to bury his face in his hands. He let out a large sigh and Jordan felt it reverberate through his chest. He reached and took the edges of Adam’s coat between the tips of his fingers. Adam paused, then his chin lifted out of his hands, up until he met Jordan’s eyes. 

There was something Jordan had to do, a decision to act aided by their escape causing a surge of blood to his ears. It only took one large step to turn to face right up to Adam – who lifted his chin to keep his eyes  –stretched his fingers under the edges of his coat, so he could rub them against the side of Adam’s ribs. He waited for Adam to speak, to complain, to move away; but he stayed totally still, but for his eyes slowly growing larger – all those shades of brown glowed, even in the dim light. Jordan shifted closer, pressing a knee between Adam’s, curling his palm around the roundness of his cheek.

He wished the light was a little brighter. He couldn’t help thinking that he’d been waiting for a chance to get this close to Adam, take him in, relish their shared space. Adam’s face didn’t disappoint where he touched it – Jordan could feel his pulse beating against his hand. Adam tilted his head a little into the touch.

Jordan decided that was his cue, angled himself in the other direction, so when he kissed Adam he could fit right up next to him.

“In case you thought it was just the fever,” he murmured against Adam’s lips, already stretching back in for seconds. “It wasn’t.”

Kissing Adam was pretty damn good, after those few careful heartbeats. Jordan felt the thrill the whole way down to his fingers, threaded deep in Adam’s hair. He made to move away – not like he would have got far without backing into a shelf – but Adam had his fingers anchored into his shirt. 

“The guy outside,” he began, the thought wandering into his head, but Adam pressed two long fingers over Jordan’s lips to silence him. 

“I don’t expect you to explain anything at this point,” he said, smiling a little. Because of the same endorphins that were roller-coastering around the inside of Jordan’s head, he supposed, and not about their predicament, nor the fact Jordan had left him in the dark for so long.  “What’s the plan.”

Until about five minutes previously, Jordan’s plan had been thus: get back out to Adam’s car, retrieve his gun from under the seat, track Conté’s man down and end this before he could get word out. Especially now that he’d seen him with Adam, and nothing could happen to Adam, not when he was here all snuggly fitted in Jordan’s arms. Hazards reputation stemmed from a mastery of emotional manipulation.

“If we move now,” he said, “we can get out of here before he can tell anyone else.”

“Home?” Adam asked.

Jordan shook his head. “There’s somewhere else we have to go.”

* * *

 

Adam had brought him through a maze of shiny hospital corridors that all looked exactly the same, until the next door they went through sent them stumbling out into the cold of the multi-storey carpark. Jordan was relieved enough to not even really feel the cold concrete through his pathetically thin hospital slippers. Probably because Adam was holding his hand, a fact that made him radiate heat from top to toe.

Why he felt like this about Adam was obvious: he was nice, very fluffy, really quite patient, was developing a habit of saving Jordan’s skin, was undeniably handsome when his hair was fixed, and looked ridiculously cuddly when it wasn’t. What Jordan  _ didn’t  _ get was why Adam was on board with it, and very much so if all the touching and the blushing was even a slight indicator: Jordan had attempted to mug him, had been embarrassingly naked, bled on everything and had said next to nothing for the entire time he’d stayed at Adam’s. 

His head was swimming again, but it was from the kissing this time: the result of being a truly wound-up mess. He decided it didn’t matter.

“They probably haven’t found out enough about you yet,” he said, “so get us out on the road, and we’ll swap.”

“That’s terrifying,” Adam said. “You know the fact they can do that is really terrifying? I know I said I wouldn’t ask, but where on  _ earth  _ are we going? Shouldn’t we be making for the nearest motorway?”

Several blocks away from the dry cleaners, Jordan made Adam get into the back seat. 

“Stay low,” he said, “or we’ll never get around the back. We aren’t allowed guests.”

“ _ And  _ you don’t want me to know where your top secret clubhouse is,” Adam said, having become increasingly sarcastic as the journey had progressed. “I get it.”

The back alley to the dry cleaners was always gated and locked, but Jordan didn’t think it wise to get out of the car. Even though Adam was hidden in the back under his coat, he took several extra turns to get there. Klopp would kill him if he didn’t.

He could see Bobby Firmino’s smile from halfway down the block, and sighed in relief. He waved at him, a sweeping gesture at the gate, and Bobby leapt out of his chair – a very large book landing face down on the damp ground - and started fiddling with the padlock. 

“Hendo!” he roared, a little with laughter; the sounding filling the whole yard, “man! I thought you were meant to be dead!” Jordan didn’t have time to object to his tease, no matter how well-meaning it was meant to be, because Bobby had pulled him into a hug. He leaned into it, pushing the car door closed behind him with his foot, before Bobby thought to check its contents – which was like the point of his entire job. 

“They found me,” he said. No time for pleasantries.

“Don’t worry,” Bobby hummed. “They’ve already been in touch. Klopp’s been expecting you.”

Klopp’s office was as disastrous of a mess as could have been expected, a shared space between coordinating the day-to-day running of the local branch of their select business and a fully functioning drycleaners. Jordan wasn’t sure if Klopp would be angry at his blown cover – perfectly reasonable, he decided – but Klopp just looked a bit tired, smiling a lot when Bobby showed him into the room. 

Jordan had decided, though. He’d thought about it the whole way.

Klopp’s business was far from an amateur outfit, albeit a small one. Jordan should never have been in that hospital in the first place, not if they cared. He’d had too many scrapes with mortality recently, and he couldn’t do this anymore.

Besides, Adam’s words had him thinking. Everyone knew why this mob war had started, but it had been decades ago. Today the different gangs were well-armed commercial enterprises and it was the only reason they were all here.

Maybe there was more to life then that after all.

“Sit,” Klopp said, and Jordan collapsed onto the stool on the other side of Klopp’s desk. Klopp leaned back into his much more comfortable looking chair. 

“You had to go,” he said, “to the one hospital ward in the city where Eden Hazard’s grandmother was having her hip replacement surgery.”

Jordan tried to smile. It failed.  _ Obviously.  _

“There was a reason you needed to lie low,” Klopp started.

“I know,” Jordan said dully, “more bargaining power, right? To find out where they’re keeping Studge?” Then, “is he okay?”

Klopp sighed. “We’re pretty sure. Negotiating is still in its early stages. But we think. All we need is for you to go back to being dead, so we can act like Hazard was seeing things.” Jordan couldn’t help gulping, and Klopp started to laugh. “ _ Pretend _ dead, Hendo.”

“I think where I was hiding has been… compromised,” he began slowly. 

Klopp’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh,” he said. “Does this have anything to do with the guy you’re hiding in the back seat of your car?”

Jordan froze solid in his seat, and Klopp burst out laughing. It boomed, echoing off the ways. Nothing bad could happen when he did.

“We know,” he said, smothering his laughter to a stop with the palm of his hand. “Chelsea mentioned him in their contact.”

“They did?” Jordan had feared the worst about dragging Adam along with him. Conté’ – a business manager, like Klopp, run for the faceless members of the Chelsea syndicate and their property empire – ran a tight, well-oiled ship. Surely, they’d know where Adam lived by now. In a couple of hours, they’d know his favourite coffee shop. The city was about as safe for him as it was for Jordan, because whatever Chelsea wanted, they would get  _ so much more  _ with both parts of the Hendo-and-Studge duo as bargaining chips.

And Jordan had put his hands on Adam in full view of Hazard. On reflection, that was pretty dumb. It was like, one iota better than holding a sign above Adam’s head reading:  _ this is how you get to me! _

“Don’t worry,” Klopp said. “We’re going to help you.” He leaned forward and placed his chin on steepled hands. “What do you need?”

Jordan thought. “Shoes,” he said, about his cold toes.

Klopp chuckled. “Okay, for that you’ll have to invite your boy in for tea. I don’t want him getting notions about how we treat guests around here.”

* * *

 

“Bournemouth,” Adam said. They sat side-by-side in the front seat of his car, hands clasped together just over the handbrake. “I’ve some friends down there still.” He grinned. “They’re going to get a surprise visit.”

_ You can’t go with him _ , Klopp had said, taking Jordan aside.  _ I know that look, and you can’t go with him. You can’t have that in this business. _

_ And when you say goodbye, no scene. He’ll get on his train, and you’ll get on yours. _

So, no scene. But Jordan wasn’t ready to let go of Adam’s hand until absolutely necessary.

“You’ll get your clinic,” he said.

“Maybe,” Adam agreed. He went very quiet for a second. Then, “they won’t get a replacement for me here. Not for months. There’s only two other bone doctors in the entire city. I know I said I wanted out, but leaving like this feels wrong.”

Jordan understood, to an extent. He’d wanted to leave, alright, but not to have to go home to hide with his parents. But unravelling from this world was tricky, and the only way to get out of it immediately was to run. This escape was supervised, but a good start.

“They have my best friend, Adam,” he began. “Two days ago they ambushed us on our way home, and the only way for me to get away was to swim.”

“I know,” Adam said softly, “your friends told me. Surprisingly nice friends, for all the busy night shifts they’ve probably given me.”

“But  _ I  _ need to tell you what happened,” Jordan squeezed his eyes closed, squeezed Adam’s hand. “I should have stayed with him. I should have protected him, and I… have to face it.”

“It’s okay,” Adam said softly.

“No,” Jordan snapped. “You have to know. After that? I don’t deserve good.”  _ I don’t deserve  _ you.  _ I deserve someone deciding that when something pure falls into my life that it has to move to the other end of the country. _

Adam shrugged. “Let’s not pretend that I didn’t help myself a little, here,” he said. “I could have let you take my car and gone straight for the insurance. It actually could have been more convenient. God,” he sighed, “don’t make that face. I knew what I was getting into.”

“You could do better – “

“– than the life of a mob wife?” Adam was grinning. He pulled Jordan’s hand into his lap, enveloped it in both of his. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Jordan wanted to do anything but stare sullenly out the windscreen.  _ I don’t get it. Why did you help me? _

Again, he felt the eyeroll rather than saw it.

“It’s because I  _ like  _ you,” Adam snorted. “You know, you’ve got this manner about you like – I can’t believe you don’t know it. You wouldn’t tell me anything about yourself but it didn’t matter. You’re too genuine to be a mobster. Even a low level one.”

Jordan turned in surprise. “I can be  _ very  _ scary.”

“Are you talking about the time you tried to steal my car while being really naked?” Adam tugged him a little closer, and Jordan took the hint; kissing Adam with his hands around his whole face so he could feel his smile in his cheeks.

He already missed him. He already missed Adam, and his smile, and his humour, and everything that was so soft about him. He already missed that he wouldn’t be there to repay everything Adam had done for him, to smooth out anything that might sharpen his edges. 

“You’re going to miss your train,” he said softly, as Adam pushed his face into his shoulder. 

“Don’t forget your prescription,” Adam said, muffled. “I won’t be there to save you this time.”

Jordan pressed a kiss into the fluffiest patch of Adam’s hair he could find. “C’mon.”

It was a Friday afternoon – the station was packed with students and oversized wheelie suitcases, rushing home for the weekend. The closest thing to cover they were going to get. 

They weren’t going to make a scene, but Jordan was willing to allow Adam’s hand twisted into his shirt, and he had already been set on walking him the whole way to the platform. 

His arm – though considerably better – did still seem to pulse with emotion.

“Thanks,” he said, when Adam let go to climb on the train. “For everything.”

Adam was biting back words, lots of them, he could tell. Before he was pushed back into the carriage by the other boarding passengers, he lifted his hand to wave; and smiled. It hurt so much – sliced, right down through Jordan’s lungs – that Jordan turned a little too sharply to leave.

_ That’s it. It’s over.  _

His stomach churned, his bad arm twinged. He blamed it on the smell of rubber, of fried food. He hurried off the platform before he could do something as dumb as look back.

_ I’ve only known the guy a day, after all. It’s not worth it. I wouldn’t have the protection, like at home. _

_ But what if I ran? _

_ Would my own men come after me? _

_ But I really like him. _

He shook his head. He could like other people. Maybe in a few weeks, prioritising something so briefly romantic over his own life would finally feel as stupid as it ought to.

_ Stay cold, Henderson. _

He stopped under the information board, watching the dancing letters and numbers count down to the departure of his train. Waiting.

The last call rang out through the speakers, Jordan could even hear it through the mull of the crowd, matching the numbers called out with those of Adam’s train on the board. 

_ It’s not worth it. _

_ It’s not.  _

_ Right? _

He turned, and began to run. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it?! Did you not like it?! I'm dying to know!


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